Aftermath
by Sarapsys
Summary: The SPK, in the aftermath of the Kira case.  Fourshot time-overlap sequel to Sins of the Father.
1. Rester:  Eggshell

**AN: Clearly I don't own DN.**

**This will be a fourshot about Near from the perspectives of the SPK members just after the Kira case. Sequel to Sins of the Father (definitely need to have read) and Under One Roof (helps to have read but you could probably get by without). I meant to get some work done on a chronologically later sequel (oy, my fics are all becoming so codependent :S) but it hasn't been coming together for me so this will hopefully be sort of a stepping stone for me to get to that one. **

**Anyway, on to the fic and hope you enjoy.**

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**Eggshell**

It was all over.

But now, as though the pressure of the case had been the only thing holding everyone in place, Rester's compact little world was suddenly collapsing under the strain like an empty eggshell.

Gevanni made no effort to hide the fact that he was ready to grab the next flight back to the States and be done with the SPK. The usually stern Lidner looked as though the slightest push or wrong word would have her in tears. Even Near had fallen into a deep funk ever since they'd confiscated and examined the belongings left behind by that crazed schoolmate of his and his accomplice. After reading the journal Mello had left in the safety deposit box, he seemed unable to do more than sit against the wall for hours at a time, like a broken doll, and stare at nothing.

It was years and years ago, but Rester felt now just like he did when he was fourteen and his dad had walked out on his mom and sisters and him: both relieved and torn apart in ways that he didn't really want to quantify or examine, and didn't have time to anyway because he was the one who had to somehow stand up, be the man, and pick up the pieces.

Pressing Near mercilessly for information and assuming permission, he accessed the reserve account the young man had saved, all that was left over of L's fortune (there wasn't much) and cut the final paycheck for Gevanni. He hardly stuck around to say a word to any of his teammates before grabbing a taxi to the airport. Rester had always known the younger agent disliked Near, but it was cutting how cursory his goodbyes to the rest of them were on his way out. His abrupt leave-taking clearly shook Lidner, though she made no comment on it.

The case had been hard on all of them, Rester told himself, and Gevanni was still young. There were more pressing things to worry about than sitting around feeling slighted.

Things like wrapping up with the Japanese police, and dismantling their headquarters, and planning for the quickly approaching future. They needed a direction. Was the Special Provision for Kira just that—a special task force that, once Kira was taken care of, disbanded? Were he and Lidner still employed? In any case, it seemed irresponsible to just leave Near somewhere, especially in this state.

"Near," Rester said quietly and firmly, crouching down on the floor next to the young man. Despite having worked with him for nearly three years, he rarely found himself at eye level with the investigator. This close he could see that Near had visibly lost weight in the week since Yellow Box, and he hadn't really had any spare to lose. "Near, did you have any plans for what to do after the case was over?"

The young man stared at the floor, and Rester wondered if he had even heard him. "…I must return to the House," he said finally. "I must make my report to Watari."

His expressions were always subtle, but this one Rester had seen once before, just before Near had called Watari to inform him of Mello's death, and he thought he could put a name to it: dread. No part of facing down the worst serial killer in the history of the world had ever put that look on his face. _Watari must be a real charmer_, Rester thought with some apprehension.

"I've met Watari, haven't I? He was the man who brought you to JFK? Roger?"

"Yes."

"And by 'house', you mean the institution in Winchester?"

"The House. Yes."

"Do you want Lidner and me to accompany you?"

"…Yes."

Rester decided to interpret that as standing orders for the moment. It seemed like the closest he was likely to get.

"I'm scared," Near said, sounding more apathetic than scared.

Stifling his impatience, Rester proffered a tight almost-smile. Strange, how he now had to remind himself that N was nothing more than a really, really smart kid who had inherited an impossible situation—just when Rester had finally convinced himself to stop thinking of him as a child.

Though Near had never told him more than he needed to know about the institution or Watari, Rester wasn't a world-class agent for nothing; it had become clear over the last few months that whatever Near's guiding motives were, first finding and then cooperating with Mello had always been high on the list. Rester was beginning to suspect that the people Near answered to were not so pleased that Mello had been killed, in spite of everything they _had_ accomplished.

(Privately, Rester felt the whole world was probably better off for his loss, but he wasn't about to say so to Near.)

It bothered him, and irrationally angered him, a little, how after everything the team had been through—from the slaughter of most of the team to putting all their lives on the line at Yellow Box—Near _now_ suddenly proved himself to not be made of stone. But the young man had never let him down when it counted, and Rester figured he owed him this much at least.

"There's nothing to be scared of, sir. I'll book the three of us a flight to London for tonight."

Near didn't agree, but he didn't say no either, so Rester interpreted that as a go ahead.


	2. Near: Remains

**Remains**

After Yellow Box, and then destroying the Death Notes, the most important thing was wiping out all signs of his counterpart's existence. Near actually went in person with Rester and Gevanni to the sleazy apartment and the warehouse where Mello had stolen the delivery truck be certain that nothing was left behind.

He knew it was unwise to hope Mello might have left him some parting message in the chaos that had preceded his murder. But with the way things had gone at the end of the Kira case, he excused himself on the grounds that perhaps it was wiser to double check than assume he knew.

And besides, it was easy to claim practicality—he couldn't just leave the traces of two Letters lying around for any unLettered policeman or investigator to find.

Not that there was much _to_ find.

At the warehouse, just the motorcycle, the accompanying helmet tossed carelessly on the ground a little ways away. He'd gotten sloppy at the end, in too much of a hurry to cover his tracks, Near observed, breathing slowly to dispel the anger that swelled up at the thought. Wasn't that just _always_ how Mello insisted on being? Finding a window of opportunity and immediately jumping out before checking to see how far off the ground it was?

_That window wouldn't have been there if the flaws in _your_ plan hadn't exposed it_, a hard voice in his mind said.

Coldly, so that the ice in his voice would keep it steady, Near ordered that the motorcycle and anything else in the warehouse that they even suspected might be connected to Mello be gathered up and put in storage.

At the apartment, a shipping carton with only two bars of Swiss chocolate left in the bottom, surveillance equipment, video games. A few changes of clothing, leathers and silks that had obviously been expensive at purchase but which were now badly scuffed and ragged, reeking of smoke and in serious need of dry-cleaning. A box of cereal on top of the fridge and three beers inside it, paper plates and a pizza box, empty paper coffee cups from the café down the street in the garbage can, two toothbrushes, aspirin, and cheap shampoo in the bathroom.

And tucked into an air vent behind the futon, the envelope. It was addressed to Mr. Roger Ruvie at the Winchester House, even had a stamp, and contained nothing but a key to a security box at the bank six blocks away.

And in the box was the red book.

To call it a book was generous. It was a red composition notebook. It reminded Near uneasily of the Death Note as he opened it. He didn't doubt Mello had intended the connection.

Mello's handwriting hadn't changed at all; it was still quick and neat and bold, and he still crossed his z's.

The moment they returned to HQ, Near shut himself in a spare office to read it. Carefully, analyzing every word at first, then faster, until he was barely skimming the words even as Mello's writing grew quicker and messier (as though he had known he was running out of time to finish it), Near read the book from cover to cover.

It was not a diary, as he had expected it might be, and it was not a message—or at least, it was not the sort of message he had tried not to hope for. There was no reflection on his leave-taking all those years ago, or on why he'd never come back, no apology, no reiteration of his promise—

_the race is on—I'll be waiting for you at the end_, _Near_—

just a few quick jabs at the very beginning, and the rest of the book was all about Backup and the Misora woman and L—_L_— Near could put on an act to wheedle information from a Japanese policeman, but he despised the man whose title and work he admired so much. Mello had abandoned him to chase after L and then L had turned around and abandoned _both _of them, and now here, at the end, it was still L alone that Mello had eyes and ears for, following him like the Pied Piper straight into the angry river and leaving Near behind forever.

Near wanted to throw the stupid, worthless, disappointing excuse for a book across the room.

Instead he read it again, feeling robbed, because these stories were something Mello had held over Near's head for years and then he'd gone and _died _before he ever told him. Indeed, he had written them down because he _knew _he would die, and he had chosen death, _dying like a dog_, as Mello himself put it, over teaming up with his Twin and finding a joint solution where nobody had to die.

If Near had been L, Mello probably wouldn't have died, the book seemed to mock him. L would have seen the holes, L would have found a better way, and they all would have pulled through and Near would have somehow convinced Mello to return just like he told Roger he would.

But L was dead too, Near argued silently, Kira had fooled L, Kira had killed L. In the end he lost and Near had won.

Though if all had gone his way, Yagami would have beat Near too. If Mello hadn't—

After years of striving to live up to the title of L, Near wondered for the first time how similar he was to the person behind that letter, whom he hated so much. Mello had written the book as a testament to L's greatness, but in it Near read what he saw to be a failure that echoed his own. Only after Backup had done all the damage he had planned to do L had caught him, and only after Mello was dead had Near realized his lethal mistake. Perhaps if L had had a fickle wild card counterpart who ran ahead and fell headlong into traps as a warning, he _would_ have beat Kira, and none of this ever would have happened. His heart clenched painfully at the thought.

What was the point of getting all the pieces on the board only after it no longer mattered? Was that what being L was, always being right at the second after last? To know he had the capability of winning but still have to suffer a loser's consequences? Was that a failure of the man or the method? Was either really worse than the other?

He read the book again, though he was fully aware that doing so only served to increase his misery, like a scab he couldn't stop picking at. Then he read it a fourth time, more slowly. When he was finished he closed it quietly, set it down on the desktop, and curled up underneath the desk to think.

Mello had met L. Near was surprised by the flare of jealousy and resentment that burned through him. Mello had _met_ L. How, when had it happened? Was it possible that…? No, Roger wouldn't have arranged an interview between them and not told Near. Would he? Near was 98% sure he wouldn't have. By L's own arrangement, then, or by chance. But Mello had known L, and he had been so sure that L had no interest in them—so, almost certainly by chance, yes.

But then, if he gave added weight to Mello's sentiment that L was disinterested in the succession or what M and N were up to—of course, of course they were meant to be a team, that much was obvious. From almost the beginning they had been singled out, thrown together repeatedly even though it consistently ended in disaster. Not, however, on L's orders—and if not his, then whose? The only probable candidates were Mr. W, and Roger, who was now Watari.

L had been flawed. He had failed, that was a fact. Near and Mello together had won; Roger had been right to harness them together. But Near by himself had gotten his counterpart killed, and wasn't that failure too? By his own standards it was.

And unlike L, Roger was still around to play witness to his failure.

Near was the last successor. He'd never really considered anyone but Mello at the House a real contender. Surely Watari wouldn't give the title to someone else, not after…?

But on the other hand, had he really earned the title? The best he could really say for himself at this point was that at least they had not been forced to resort to Plan C (which, though it would have gotten the job done, would have put them on the same level as Kira). Near concluded bleakly that to call what he had accomplished a complete success would be akin to claiming to score 100% on a test when in truth, Mello had been hissing the answers at him from across the aisle. And with his Twin gone, he couldn't expect another last-minute save like that. It would be more logical to train a new successor than to keep a proven failure.

Mello hadn't thought twice about abandoning him over and over again, and now for good. Gevanni was already chafing to leave. Soon, the others would follow. With Kira gone, Near wasn't needed anymore. It was no longer a state of war. Roger would have the time and leisure to find a new L, a complete one.

And then what?


	3. Gevanni: Severance

**Meh. Didn't really get this quite where I was trying to go with it, but I'm sick of fiddling with it.

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**Severance**

It was at about 3 am the night before Yellow Box that Gevanni realized if they survived this case, he needed to get away.

His hand ached, palm burning and fingers cramped into place around the pen. He had done forgeries of signatures, official paperwork, even two or three page letters, but never anything as long as the Note, in so short a span of time. And the longer he worked on it, the riskier their Hail Mary became. He had been at it for eight hours already, and there was still a long way to go. If he made a mistake now, even the tiniest slip of the pen or an accidental smudge, their lives would all be in even greater jeopardy.

Near was watching, all toys set aside for once, perched at his shoulder like a particularly paranoid hawk. For the first ten minutes, before he had fallen into his rhythm, the proximity had bothered Gevanni, but after that he took in nothing but the Note and the paced strokes of his pen.

His spine cracked in five different places as he sat up for a break, wincing as he stretched his hand. A glance at the clock proved it to be three in the morning. And all at once, Gevanni wondered how much longer his stiff hand would hold out, if he could possibly finish this thing in the allotted time.

Near was counting on him, but Near never left anything to chance.

"What's Plan B?" Gevanni asked, abruptly, before he chickened out.

"This _is_ Plan B," Near rasped. He sounded tired. "Can you not do it after all?"

"I can do it," Gevanni said, because there was no other acceptable answer. Blinking hard, he gulped down more coffee and picked up the pen again, trying not to notice how heavy it felt. "I take it there is no Plan C, then."

There was a loaded pause.

"Plan C is to use the Note to ensure that X-Kira follows Plan B," Near said tonelessly.

Aghast, Gevanni stared at his young employer. "Use the Note?" he echoed. Then, more accusingly, "That's cheating."

Irritated, Near wound a curl around one finger and gave it a tug. "Clearly successful implementation of Plan B is far preferable. However, if it becomes unviable, Kira must still be stopped at all costs."

Gevanni had known it, really, ever since the SPK had disbanded and they had been forced to resort to not-strictly-legal ways of working, but for some reason it really hit him hard in that moment that he would never be able to put this job on a resume, or tell anyone about their part in the Kira case (assuming they lived through it). With a pang, he realized he _missed_ having the law on his side, missed getting more credit for a job impossibly done than a matter-of-fact statement of thanks from this straight-faced teenager that had more to do with trained politeness than with gratitude. He missed being proud of not only what he accomplished, but taking pride in how he'd accomplished it: finding evidence with a warrant, and not by sneaking around in gyms and picking locks in dressing rooms. He missed working for people who cared about how the goal was achieved as much as the goal itself. Because really, despite the differences in the directions they'd taken, Near was no better than Mello.

The minute this case was done, he promised himself as he set pen to paper again, he was done with the SPK—and with Near.

-o-

"You look ready to go."

Gevanni looked up from the shirt he was folding. Lidner was leaning against the doorway, with a posture that attempted to be casual and instead suggested she needed the support.

Indeed, most of his things were already packed away in two small suitcases and a briefcase. It seemed lame and kind of pathetic to him, that he had spent all this time in Japan and he didn't even have any souvenirs to show for it. He made a mental note to pick up a wall hanging or some ornamental chopsticks or something at the airport.

"Aren't you?"

"I haven't started packing yet, no," she said, a note in her voice that straddled the line between defensive and accusing. She wasn't wearing lipstick today, Gevanni noticed. Despite her chilly tone, Lidner's words seemed somehow softer and less aggressive when they weren't outlined in dark red.

"Really?"

She didn't reply, just crossed her arms and watched as he placed the folded shirt neatly in the suitcase and flipped it closed.

"What the heck is that look for?" Gevanni asked jokingly. "I mean, I wasn't planning on sticking around here for an extended vacation after the job was done. Rice is ok but I would do just about anything for a real pub burger with fries."

"That's what's on your mind right now? Burgers and fries?"

"Well sure," he lied. "We've been working hard, and now we're done. Kira's down. Don't you think we deserve a bit of a break?"

Lidner looked down at the floor. "Yeah. I guess."

"Come on, Halle. Can you honestly say you haven't thought of American junk food even _once_ in the last few days?" he wheedled. "Nachos with cheese? Chili dogs? Onion flower? Any of this hitting a spot?"

"Not really," said Lidner, not looking cheered at all.

_Oh, right. She's a health nut._ "Well how about curry?" He hesitated a beat before thinking _Hell, why not?_ and continuing, "I know a really good Thai place in New York."

"…You can't just pretend all of this hasn't happened," Lidner finally said, not even bothering to acknowledge his oblique overture.

Gevanni frowned, zipping up the suitcase with a little jerk. "What? We did win, right, or did I imagine that? We figured out who Kira was, he's gone for good, all the Death Notes are destroyed. All of us got through it alive and unhurt. So why am I the only one not acting like we lost?"

"A lot of people still died," Lidner muttered.

"By 'a lot of people', you mean that Mello kid," Gevanni said flatly.

He couldn't understand it. Of all the things to have apparently make all of Near's cogs and gears grind to a halt, the death of the criminal punk that had been a thorn in the side of their investigation for months was not something Gevanni would have expected. And Lidner, who was cut from nearly the same cloth—the same pattern but flimsier, cold and willing to make unsavory deals to reach her goals but not frozen _as_ hard, not willing to push the buck _as_ far—she seemed just as affected. As though Mello had done any good worth mourning. Trust a heartless pair like Near and Lidner to get all worked up over a kid who had held them both at gunpoint at one time or another.

Although...seeing some semblance of grief and regret laid bare in the SPK's leader cut sharply in some part of himself that Gevanni hadn't realized existed, and was not happy to discover. It almost shook him to doubt.

Almost.

God, he missed normal people.

"Among others, yes," she said, giving him a hard look.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. You and Near both have been acting like it was the end of the world since he got himself killed—"

"Don't forget we all would have died if he hadn't jumped in—"

"And don't _you_ forget he killed most of the SPK without a second thought," Gevanni snapped. "If he hadn't done that, we probably wouldn't have _needed_ a lucky break at the last second!"

Lidner looked away sharply, as though she'd been slapped.

"Look, I get you wanted to do whatever it took to get Kira back, and I get that Mello did help us some in the end," Gevanni conceded through gritted teeth. It pained him to make such an admission. "But that kid was trouble from the start, and he got what was coming to him."

"You didn't even know him."

"_You_ barely knew him!"

"Near did," Lidner said quietly. "He's angry with me for not keeping a better eye on him…."

Gevanni scoffed. "Look, the fact of the matter is, Mello brought it on himself, and we're all better off without him. And if Near's upset, well, he'll get over it. I don't know if you noticed, but they weren't exactly drinking buddies!"

"So? It's hard to lose a brother, Stephen, even if you don't get along!"

"Mello wasn't _your_ brother, Halle! He was some delinquent kid who took on a game he couldn't handle—"

Lidner's face set. "Have a safe flight," she bit out, turning on her heel to stalk away.

_Shit_, he thought, as it occurred to him belatedly that Halle's actual brother had been pretty much what he'd just described before he was killed by Kira. "Lidner, wait—look, that was out of line."

She did not wait, however, and Gevanni decided following her would be a bad idea. There were plenty of other fish in the sea, who were a heck of a lot warmer, easier to impress, and less ambition-driven than Halle Lidner.

And bosses a hell of a lot less callous than Near.

Really, Gevanni thought, he was better off moving on, and not getting bogged down by everything here. There was nothing to get bogged down with, and no reason to stick around. Right? Right.

And wasn't as though Near needed them anymore, he repeated to himself, for what had to be the seventh time that morning.

Gevanni took mental stock of the room and his belongings, trying to remember if he had packed everything. He couldn't remember actually putting away his burgundy tie. Muttering to himself about cold-hearted bitches and arrogant teenagers, he re-opened his suitcase and started taking everything back out, just to be sure.


	4. Lidner: Homecoming

**Well it looks like this is going to be 5 parts instead of 4...couldn't quite wrap things up as neatly as I hoped in four. *shakes fist at uncooperative SPK members*  


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**Homecoming**

After the dry cool of January in Japan, the slush and creeping soggy cold of England was almost as chilling as the tense quiet inside the car.

They were on their way to report to L's manager, Watari. What Rester could tell her about the House wasn't much, so Lidner had very little idea of what to expect. She knew it was an orphanage, and assumed it must have been a bleak sort of place to have produced a pair like Mello and Near. Halle pictured a tall, drafty building with tall, narrow staircases and tall, austere windows darkened by the heavy, musty, flower-patterned curtains her mind supplied when she cast about for something "English-looking".

Between her half-frozen feet (pumps really didn't do it for an English winter), her apprehension about their mysterious destination, and the dark, oppressive silence that oozed from the backseat to fill the entire car, Lidner was in a sorry state.

Near blamed her for Mello's death. Lidner knew it.

"It's fine," was all he would say on the subject—which meant nothing, because Near would always say anything was fine unless it affected the case. It was not in any of his communications with the SPK, but in the way he spoke to Kira on the phone that it had been clear that something had changed. The gloating smile and taunts were gone. He simply had confirmed their meeting and hung up.

And since the whole fiasco, he hadn't spoken to her.

"Turn right," the GPS unit droned, and abruptly they were at a gate.

Lidner chanced a glass at the side mirror. For the first time since leaving London, Near looked up, gazing through the gates with unreadable eyes.

It was not as gloomy as she had pictured. It was just a manor house, with wings that were obviously later additions sprawling out on either side, some windows dark but many of them lit and golden. As they crawled up the driveway, curtains twitched in many of the windows, faces peeking quickly then vanishing. It occurred to Lidner (though she kicked herself for not thinking of it earlier, it was so obvious) that the place was probably crawling with children. She cringed internally.

A tired-looking old man stood alone on the front steps, waiting for them as they parked. Near got out of the car and led the way as though he were being escorted to his own execution. From the way he had been acting the entire journey, Halle was led to believe their welcome would be grim at best.

This was not the case.

Watari's greeting was brief, but his watery blue eyes followed Near with the expression of a man whose son had returned against all his expectations from a war zone, and they took barely two steps into the rosy warm foyer before the young man was buried in the embrace of an old woman in a babushka. Clusters of students hung shyly in doorways and peeped through the banisters of the stairs, whispering amongst each other, socked feet skittering on wood floors, some of them even clapping.

"Near's back!"

"Look, he brought Outsiders…."

"Yep, it defsure him!" A teenager yelled up the stairs, summoning yet more of them, until the entryway was buzzing with the chatter of children ranging from young people Near's age to toddlers. Lidner and Rester hung awkwardly in the door, observing the chaos in bemusement.

"So is it true, is Kira dead?"

"Kira's down! Kira's down! Kira's down—"

"Shush up, he not gonna tell us anything with you yellin' at him like that—"

"Leetle Near, you are nothing but skin and bones," Babushka proclaimed, holding the rather shell-shocked-looking detective out at arm's length. "You haf not been eating, tsk. Ve vill fix that. Are you hungry? Of course you are, you young men are alvays hungry. Constance vill get you some supper—"

"No, thank you, Matron," Near said, shrugging off her hands uncomfortably. "I do not require anyth—"

"Do not be silly, you are half starved, and you haf been vorking so hard and zen traveling—"

"He's probably tired, Marta, give him a break," said a tall man with blond hair and glasses, "besides, you're embarrassing him in front of his associates."

"Pfff, zey can understand zat ve are alvays very happy to see our children come home safe," Marta waved him off dismissively, but now Rester and Lidner, too, fell under the scope of her mother-henning. "Come in, come in, it is very cold outside, do not stand in the door. You also vill have supper, and dere are rooms for you—all of you students get avay, let our guests haf some room to breathe, yes? You haf luggage in your car? Hopkins!"

Through all the chaos of scrambling kids and the matron's strident orders, Watari managed to shuffle Rester and Lidner aside. "I apologize for all the ruckus," the old man sighed. "The completion of the Kira case has everyone in…high spirits."

That was rather an understatement. The chant of _Kira's down, Kira's down_ had restarted in the foyer, accompanied by the drumbeat of enthusiastic feet on the stairs and oak floor. Except for the Japanese task force, no one else out in the world knew of Kira's defeat. It was a secret, a dark, bitter victory they couldn't even acknowledge, a war no one knew was over. Yet here, in this English orphanage, they were met with celebration. It was as though they had stepped over the threshold into a bizarre dreamworld.

"Understandable," Rester said politely, looking around with a frown. "Where's Near?"

"I assure you he's safe, wherever he got off to. Most likely he has retired to his room," said Watari, sounding resigned. "Come, I will have tea brought up to my office until things have…settled somewhat."

-o-

A day and a half they had been here and Near still hadn't spoken to her.

Almost worse was facing all the people who did.

Watari, the matron, the cook, the librarians, all the young men and women who carefully shepherded the children away from her and Rester with quiet reprimands to leave them be and not pester them with questions…these people had _raised_ Mello. Seeing one of the aides scoop up a child who couldn't be more than five and tickle him until he shrieked with delighted laughter, or the look on Roger's face when her mouth betrayed her and she asked about the young man, Halle felt physically ill. Being around Near had been bad enough; she remembered all too keenly what it felt like when she had received word from the prison that Jake had died of a heart attack. But their parents had been long gone by then. There had been no one else for Lidner to call and tell that their little boy had been killed. She was the only one he'd had.

Not so for Mello, apparently. Halle could hardly bear to face them all.

"Halle Lidner. You work for Near," a dull voice said, making her jump.

It was hard to find a private corner in this place, free of the curious stares of the students. Places that one would expect to be the quietest, like the library, tended to be the most full of people. Upon finding the dining room empty in the middle of the afternoon, Lidner had taken shelter in there, sitting by herself in the dark at a long table, and tried to fix her mind on something other than guilt.

A teenage girl with short blond hair sat down a few feet away on the same bench, so that they were facing in opposite directions. "I'm O. O for Ochre."

"Oh," said Lidner, unsure of how to respond.

"Yes. That's what I said." The girl was not looking at Lidner, but out across the shadowy jumble of empty tables and benches. "Is Kira dead, or is he incarcerated?"

"That's classified information," Lidner said with a hint of chill, straightening in her seat.

"N _would_ still be a clam about everything," Ochre sighed, more to herself than to Lidner. "But he also thorough. So it most likely safe to suppose that Kira is at least permanently incapacitated."

"…Yes," Lidner said reluctantly, when the silence stretched to a point that it seemed the girl expected some reply.

"Good." Ochre stood to go.

Halle's thoughts escaped from her mouth. "Did you know Mello?"

The girl paused.

"Yes. But he's dead now, isn't he."

"What—what was he like? Here?"

Ochre's dim eyes evaluated her critically. "Mean. No more than Near, though."

"Oh."

"You are very upset that he's dead," Ochre observed. She said it with pity, less as though she were sympathetic, and more as though she thought this was an unwise thing to feel, and that the older woman didn't know any better.

"It's always upsetting when people we know die," Halle responded in a clipped tone. Ochre's eyes flickered, and she suddenly felt that she had said far too much.

"Yes," the teenager agreed. "Though I doubt you'll get far working for L if you let it keep eating you like that. These things happen, you know, especially around people like Mello and Near."

And with that the girl left Halle sitting alone again in the dark hall, feeling offended at being so brashly criticized by a child, but also wondering if perhaps O was right.

-o-

"He seems much better," Rester said a few days later, relieved.

And it was true. The evening before Rester and Watari had decided enough was enough and Roger had gone out to speak with the young detective. They had come back in red-cheeked and shivering from the cold, but Near had looked the most unburdened and somehow alive that he had since—well, since ever in the time Halle had known him.

Lidner still hadn't spoken to him, though if she was honest, he didn't seem to be avoiding her. It was more that _she _hadn't found the proper opportunity. There was always someone else around- Watari, other students or staff, Rester.

She knew, heavily, she needed to talk to him about future plans. (Though, that might have been easier if she had any definite ones.) Lidner couldn't keep working for someone she couldn't even speak to. And anyway, this was all ridiculous. She was a grown professional, not some child who had broken her mother's favorite vase. There was no _good _reason she couldn't deal with this situation like a professional.

"Are you staying with him?" she asked Rester.

"Only as far as London," he said, with a calm certainty that Halle envied. "I need to get back to the States and let my family know I'm not dead. If L ever needs me he'll know how to reach me."

Family. Lidner felt a sharp pang at the word.

"What about you?" he asked.


End file.
